


Oceans

by moves_like_water



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Broken Dean, Drunk Dean, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Longing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post Season 5, Post-Episode: s05e22 Swan Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 15:33:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11992680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moves_like_water/pseuds/moves_like_water
Summary: Takes place about a week after the events of Swan Song, before Dean goes to see Lisa. Dean gets very, very drunk, and accidentally calls Cas, who takes care of him in his very broken state.





	Oceans

**Author's Note:**

> Title after the song "Oceans" by Seafret. Maybe give it a listen. Thanks for reading!

Castiel has felt this before. The first time it happened he thought it was a prayer, not a sensation he was unfamiliar with. As an angel he has received prayer often enough, although never as a direct call to him. In any case, it took him a while to realize that what made this sensation different from a regular prayer is that it contains no words. Just pure unadulterated sensation. He’d never felt anything like it until Dean Winchester came into his life.

  
Dean Winchester, a stubborn, impossible creature. Dean, who had been the catalyst for so many things that complicated Castiel’s life in ways he never imagined. Dean, who made him not care about those complications because there are things more important than following orders.

  
Dean Winchester’s longing is powerful, strong enough to pass through time and distance and affect him no matter the situation he’s in. It’s a buzzing in the base of the human skull of the late Jimmy Novak that spreads through his veins and through his grace. Warm golden tendrils not unlike the wisps of Dean’s soul that he pulled together and wound back into the form of a man, two years, forty years, lifetimes ago.

  
He hasn’t seen Dean in seven days. In the expanse of his lifetime its mere seconds but in the circumstances it’s infinite and it’s unbearable. When he feels Dean he’s not a buzz in his skull, instead he’s screaming white hot fire that comes in waves and threatens to drive Castiel mad. He’s always been able to ignore this feeling but now his entire Chrystler-building sized being of celestial intent is trembling and before he feels his wings move he finds himself in a space both familiar and unfamiliar.

  
In the time he’s known the Winchesters he has seen plenty of motel rooms, and though they all look the same to him, he suspects it’s much worse for Dean himself. He’s stayed in thousands of these rooms, he’s told Cas. Dean Winchester has rented a room with two queen-sized beds and Cas wonders if he did it out of habit or as a way to punish himself for things he can’t change.

  
Dean is sitting on one of the beds and he looks up at Castiel with what would have been surprise if he wasn’t sluggish with drunkenness.

  
“Cas.” he says, and Cas can hear the whiskey in his voice.

  
When he’d arrived in the motel Dean’s longing had become a freezing warmth in the pit of his stomach, and when Dean’s green eyes look through him, Cas feels unsteady.

  
“Hello, Dean.” he says quietly.

  
“How did you find me?” Dean slurs and Cas doesn’t say that his soul was calling for him with a desperation he’d never experienced before.

  
Castiel remembers the first time he met Dean. The man had plunged a knife into his chest and he’d been able to retain stoic eye contact while the hunter faltered in his presence. These past few years should have been insignificant in the life of an angel but somehow he can’t even recognize the warrior of Heaven who had encountered Dean that day. He finds it hard to look at Dean now and when he does he feels his stolen face contort. He can still feel his grace pulsing and yet he can’t remember a time when he’s felt more hopelessly human.

  
“You needed me.” Cas says.

  
Dean stares at him for a moment then all at once what little composure he had cracks and his eyes well up with tears. Cas is taken aback. He has never seen Dean Winchester cry.

  
“He’s gone, Cas. I couldn’t protect him. He’s gone he-” his voice catches in his throat.

  
“Dean…” Cas takes a step closer to the bed and as he does, Dean somehow manages to stand.

  
He waivers, tears silently flowing down his face. There’s a bottle clenched in his fist with just a splash of amber liquid remaining at the bottom. Cas still cannot look at Dean, and yet he can’t shake his gaze, green and electric. Dean is still wearing shoes and his footsteps fall loud and uneven on the cheap, thin carpet. Cas just has time to catch him in his arms before he knocks them both over.

  
“The one thing. It’s the one thing I’ve always done. And I failed. I can’t save him now. I didn’t. Couldn’t. A-and I’ve been there. To Hell. And I know- I know what’s happening but it’s worse and I can’t save him. Not this time.” Dean is rambling.

  
Cas isn’t quite sure if he has a heart in the way that humans have one, but if he does he knows it’s broken. He half pulls and half carries Dean back to the bed. Heat radiates off him, a drunken fever. An arm wraps tightly around Cas’ neck and he feels ashamed at how he leans into the touch.

  
“There are some things you can’t change.”

  
“It should’ve been me.” Dean says, and Cas knows he believes it.

  
Cas finally looks him in the eyes if only because he can feel Dean begging him to. The green of his eyes glows against a bloodshot pink backdrop. He reaches out and brushes a tear off Dean’s cheek with his thumb, a gesture that shocks both of them. A choked noise makes its way out of Dean’s throat. Cas pulls his hand away.  
“It shouldn’t have been anyone. You’ve carried the weight of the world on your shoulders, Dean.”

  
“Since I’ve been six years old I’ve taken care of him. The only thing I had left was my brother. If either of us had to die, it should have been me. You should have left me in Hell.”

  
Every word was like ice. “Pulling you out of Hell was the first thing I did right in a long, long time, Dean.”

  
“Then you’re as big a fool as I am.”

  
Cas was aware of how Dean’s thigh was pressed against his. How his whiskey-stained breath grazed across his skin when he spoke. He closed his eyes, unable to process. How long had he longed for this same closeness, only to have it now, when Dean was delirious from grief and drink?

  
“Cas.” Again, Dean’s voice caught.

  
How long had Dean’s hand been on his thigh? His fingers dug into Cas’s flesh and for once he felt grounded in this body that was his but shouldn’t be. A palm pressed to his neck and all of a sudden the taste of whiskey, normally dull to his supernatural senses, filled his mouth. He tilted his head and lifted a hand to stroke the stubble on Dean’s cheek. He meant to pull away, but instead he pulled Dean closer, hungry for this human touch that both terrified and excited him.

  
The kiss was messy and wet, without the finesse that usually followed Dean’s romantic encounters. One of Dean’s hands wound beneath a dress shirt that hadn’t been untucked since Cas had possessed Jimmy Novak more than two years ago. His breath hitched and he startled himself with this sudden need for air when all he needed to keep this body alive was his grace. He blinked and pulled away, embarrassed for letting this happen when Dean was so fragile.

  
Dean’s face was flushed red. Cas had withdrawn so quickly Dean’s hand still hovered in the air where he’d been a moment before.

  
“I’m sorry.” Cas says before Dean can speak.

  
“Why?” Dean’s eyes are blazing and this time Cas can’t look away. “Cas I think about you all the time. All the time- I mean- I just. I want you. I want you so badly, I can’t help it I. I don’t know, Cas. I just-” He sighs and fumbles around for his bottle, opens it up, letting the last of it drain down his throat, just a drop landing on his lips. He swallows loudly and Cas thinks he might throw up.

  
Dean is crouched on the bed, half sitting, with his back to Castiel. He’s propped up on one arm with his face turned down. His eyes are closed. Cas almost feels guilty just for looking at him. He’s never seen Dean so sick, or so upset.

  
“Dean.” Cas presses a hand to his shoulder.

  
Dean startles, and turns around. One of his hands immediately grips Castiel’s, at first smashing all his fingers in his fist, but as he struggles to entwine their fingers, Cas lets him. “I’m in love with you, Cas.” There are still tears dried on his face. “At least, I think I am.” He swallows. “I am,” he mutters and his eyes are so bright Cas feels lost.

  
He can’t speak. Even if he’s known, God, he’s _known_ it to be true, he never thought he would hear Dean say it.

  
Dean lunges forward, trying to catch Castiel in another kiss, but he turns his head.

  
The hurt in his eyes isn’t masked by the liquor clouding his mind. “You kissed me back. You feel it I know you do, I _know_.” Despite his words, Cas can see the fear and doubt in his eyes.

  
Despite all of the things he had seen, all of the horrible, terrible things, Cas has never cried. For some reason there’s a sting behind his eyes, and though no tears come, the fact they they’re so close terrifies him. He doesn’t know if it’s a side effect of being in the same vessel for so long or if it’s just Dean. It’s always been Dean.

  
“I love you, Dean.” He says. “But tell me what’s going to happen tomorrow if you wake up and I’m in your bed.”

  
All of a sudden Dean’s crying again. His grip on Castiel’s hand tightens and he strokes Cas’s face with his free hand and says “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Cas. I don’t know why I’m like this. Cas, I love you. I do.”

  
“We can’t do this right now, Dean.”

  
“Why not now?”

  
“You’re drunk, Dean. And you’re hurt and I won’t take advantage of you.”

  
“It’s not-” Dean protests weakly.

  
“Dean.” Cas puts a finger to his lips to shush him and Dean just blinks at him with those tears shimmering in his eyes.

  
Cas wilts as the stinging in his eyes grows and he hates himself for all of this. He hates himself for being here, for _kissing_ Dean when he’s so broken. He hates how helpless he is to fix this, any of this.

  
Dean sighs and he falls forward, and his head falling to Castiel’s chest. His breathing is heavy. Cas sits for a moment, unmoving. Cautiously he wraps his arms around Dean and all of a sudden he’s heaving. Cas is alarmed and then he realizes that somehow Dean’s tears have become sobs and everything in him is screaming because this is so _wrong_ because Dean is strong and he is solid and he doesn’t cry and he doesn’t _sob_ so helplessly against Castiel and- And Dean’s arms have wound around him and his fingers are digging into Cas’s back. And Cas doesn’t know what else to do so he holds Dean tighter and he presses his face to the top of Dean’s head and he kisses him gently.

  
Dean’s tears soak through the thin fabric of Cas’s shirt. He coughs once and then his grip on Cas is loosened and he tries to pull away, managing only to turn his head before he’s heaving and vomiting over the edge of the bed. There’s nothing but liquid in his stomach. Cas wonders when Dean has last eaten. He wonders if Dean might be dying.

  
Castiel knows he could fix Dean, heal him, sober him up, and while part of him wants to, another part of him feels it’s wrong. Dean sloppily wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and the gesture causes him to heave yet again. Cas stands up and goes to him, carrying, more than helping him stumble to the motel bathroom, where he throws up on the floor before they make it to the toilet. Dean crumples to the floor in a heap, and Cas sits next to him and holds him while he throws up the rest of the contents of his stomach into the toilet. A rancid mixture of Jack Daniels and stomach acid and bile.

  
Dean leans back against him, eyes closed, skin dangerously pale. His breathing is shallow, and even though he knows Dean wouldn’t want him to, he presses two fingers to Dean’s forehead and heals him just enough that he knows Dean won’t die. A part of him is terrified that maybe, _maybe_ , Dean knew what he was doing and maybe he _knew_ how much he was drinking and knew what might happen and that he might’ve done it on _purpose_ and- Castiel shakes his head and he strokes Dean’s hair until his eyes flutter back open.

  
With Castiel having brought him back from the edge, his skin has a little more color and he slurs, “I’m sorry, Cas,” for not the first time tonight.

  
Castiel almost shushes him, but before he can the words, “I thought you were going to die.” Slip off his tongue. Even though he knows that Dean knows that Cas would never let that happen.

  
Dean doesn’t look at him and he doesn’t answer. This time it’s Cas who takes his hand and now Dean looks at him, a million emotions swirling in his eyes. He wants to scream _Dean Winchester you deserve to be saved!_ but he’s afraid Dean will disagree so instead he says, “You need water.”

  
“Okay,” Dean says quietly, and Cas hauls him to his feet.

  
He leads Dean out of the bathroom and makes him sit on the clean bed. Dean takes off his soiled shirt and throws it on the floor. He sits with his knees pulled close to his chest and starts biting on his thumbnail. It’s so unlike Dean Cas almost considers that maybe this isn’t real, but angels don’t dream. Even if they did, he didn’t think he could make up something like this.

  
“Are you mad at me?” Dean asks, watching him from the bed while Cas fills up a glass of water from the tap.

  
Castiel doesn’t answer. He walks over and hands the glass to Dean, his fingers touching Dean’s as he’s afraid that if he lets go Dean won’t be able to hold it.

  
“It’s okay,” Dean assures him and he takes a sip of the water, only doing it because Cas told him to.

  
Cas takes the glass from him and sets it on the bedside table. “I’m not mad at you.” He says finally, sitting on the bed next to Dean.

  
For a moment Dean looks like he might grab Cas’s hand again, but he doesn’t. He looks down at his fingers and says, “I’m drunk but I mean it. Meant. What I said.” His voice is lilting and the inflection is funny, and Dean is still very, very drunk.

  
“I did too.” Cas says.

  
“Then why?”

  
He doesn’t elaborate further but Cas understands. “Would you have said it if you were sober? Would you have kissed me if you were?”

  
“I would’ve wanted to.” Dean says sadly. “That doesn’t matter. I did now. Now we kissed and now it doesn’t matter anyway, I can’t take it back.”

  
But you won’t remember. “So we’ll talk about it later. When you feel better.” They wouldn’t.

  
“We will.” Dean repeats, and obediently takes a drink of water. He goes pale again for a moment but then it passes and he sets the glass back down.

  
Dean slumps against Cas, and Cas lets him. After all, holding isn’t kissing, and he was never going to have this chance again. He burrows into Cas’s side and Cas puts an arm around him.

  
“I’m not ok, Cas.”

  
“I know.”

  
“I’ve let so many people die.”

  
“You’ve saved so many others.”

  
“I would sell my soul again. If I could.”

  
Cas’s stomach lurches. “You can’t.”

  
“I wish it was me. It should be me. I don’t matter, not like Sam does. He would be fine if it was me. He would be sad but he would move on. I can’t. I can’t do it.”

  
“You’re stronger than you know,” Cas murmurs.

  
“I only pretend to be.” Dean sighs heavily, and Cas can hear that he’s crying again. He never wants to see Dean cry again.

  
“It’s my fault he got into this again.” Dean says after a while. “He would’ve been a great lawyer. He’s so smart, and _good_ , and God I missed him, but I was so proud. I should’ve let him be. He’d still be here. He’d be a lawyer by now.” He laughs humorlessly, “Wow.”

  
“You don’t know what would’ve happened.” Castiel starts combing the fingers of his free hand through Dean’s hair. Dean leans into the touch. Cas’s heart flutters in his chest and he feels guilty for it. He thinks again about what Dean’s soul looked like, when he first saw it in Hell. He remembers how he stitched it together with his own grace and how it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his existence. Maybe he was in love with him, then, too. He just didn’t know what it was. At least he knows one thing; Dean _is_ much stronger than he believes. Cas has seen it.

  
Dean continues to talk about Sam. He tells Castiel all about Sam as a child, and how he raised him. He talks about things they used to do, games they used to play. Some things Cas knew about, and some he didn’t. After a while, Dean’s tears stop and he just remembers out loud. Sometimes he slurs so badly Cas can’t understand him but it doesn’t matter. Eventually, Dean’s stream of thought slows down, and his body grows heavy. His breathing is deeper and Cas realizes the exhaustion and alcohol has finally caught up with him and he’s fallen asleep.

  
Cas doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay and let Dean sleep curled up with his head in his lap. If only to make sure he’s okay. But he knows that Dean will be fine, and he knows that despite what he said in his drunken ramblings, tomorrow will not be the same. Even if Dean remembered, Cas didn’t think he would admit it. _It’s okay_. Is what Cas tells himself, but it’s not, really. He doesn’t need Dean’s affection to be happy, he just needs him to be okay. At least, that idea has got him this far.

  
He waits until he’s sure Dean is so far gone that he won’t wake him up by shimmying out from under him. When he stands up, he makes sure Dean is on his side, and he tucks him under the covers. He wonders how many times Dean has done so for Sam. The glass of water on the bedside table is empty, and he brings it to the sink, refills it, and replaces it. The room is a mess and he can’t leave it that way. Maybe he’s just finding excuses to hang around a little longer, though he doesn’t know why. He picks up the empty liquor bottles and sets them gently into the waste bin so they don’t clatter. Next he makes a point of cleaning up Dean’s watery vomit as best he can. He leaves the soiled towels in a small pile on the bathroom floor. It occurs to him that he could have just used a little angelic mojo to fix things up. His brain isn’t exactly operating on the angelic wavelength at the moment.

  
He looks back at Dean, who is snoring slightly but at least seems to be sleeping peacefully. Hopefully, no nightmares tonight.  
Before he disappears, Cas can’t help but press another kiss to Dean’s forehead. Something inside him shatters as he does so. Whatever it is, he can feel it break.

  
\----

  
Dean wakes up with what could possibly be the worst hangover of his life. He rubs his eyes dramatically, shying away from the light that filters in through the slatted blinds over the window. After a moment he sits up, his head spinning and stomach lurching. The lamp next to the bed is still on, and there’s a full glass of water sitting next to him on the table. Apparently he’d been at least a little coherent before going to bed last night. He was almost surprised he’d woken up at all, and that he had, surprised that he wasn’t lying in his own vomit on the floor. Especially considering the last thing he remembered about last night was coming here after a stop at the liquor store.

  
He takes a huge gulp of water, chugging about half the glass before setting it back down. It makes his empty stomach churn, but at least he thinks he can keep himself from puking. So that’s a start. When he stands up to go to the bathroom he sways, and has to hold the table to steady himself. Proving two things: one, he was definitely still drunk, and two, the pounding in his skull was only going to get worse. He groans and makes his way to the bathroom. It stinks of booze and he notices dirty towels lying near the door. So he cleaned up a little bit too. Again, odd, but he doesn’t think too much of it.

  
After relieving himself, he goes to the sink and splashes some cold water on his face. He stares back at his reflection. His eyes are sore and the skin around them is puffy. So he did a lot of crying last night, too. Staring into his red-rimmed eyes, for some reason he starts to think about Cas. There’s no reflection in the mirror, but he whips around, half-expecting to see the angel standing behind him. He’s not. For some reason he’s disappointed. It’s only been days since he’s seen him, but in light of the situation, it feels like lifetimes.

  
After finger-combing his hair into a somewhat presentable appearance and changing into a clean (well, mostly-clean) t-shirt and jeans, he decides to get something to eat. Luckily, his broken, piece-of-shit-ass was smart enough to choose a motel with a gas station and a shitty mom-n- pop diner across the street.

  
He didn’t have much of an appetite, but for Sam’s sake, he managed to choke down some eggs and bacon. He knew his brother would be pissed at him, if he saw the state he had been in. Especially considering the promise Dean had made him. Hopefully he would sober up enough to be on his way by this evening.

  
\----

  
Against his better judgement, Castiel goes back to Dean’s motel room the next morning. He wants to talk to him, but as he watches Dean consider his surroundings with confusion, he knows that he was right. Dean doesn’t remember he was there. Best not to show up uninvited, then. Cas doesn’t follow him to the bathroom, but he feels a stab of longing and he can’t help it.

  
Standing behind Dean, his presence makes no reflection. Not when he’s somewhere outside this physical plane of existence. Dean whirls around, and Cas startles. He almost reaches out to touch him. Almost.

  
He watches Dean cross the street and go into the restaurant. Dean will be fine, he knows. It will take some time, but he will be okay. Mostly. _He’s_ okay, too, mostly. For some reason it hurts him to leave. The sting in his eyes that he’d felt last night came back for a moment. He chuckled to himself, and even to himself, it sounded sad. He didn’t know why. He would see Dean again. See him maybe. Another pang of guilt gripped him as he recalled the warmth of Dean’s frantic, drunken kiss. There were things to take care of in Heaven. Things to fix. He reminds himself before he leaves. Dean would have things to do, as well. And if he needed Cas, well, he would be there. _It’s okay._ The mantra scolds in his brain. _It’s always okay._


End file.
